


Te Absolvo

by microwaveslayer



Category: camp lazlo
Genre: Abusive Friendships, Abusive Relationships, M/M, Melodrama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:34:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3730825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/microwaveslayer/pseuds/microwaveslayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Lumpus was horrible to Slinkman and the one time he tried to make it up to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Te Absolvo

**Author's Note:**

> "Te Absolvo" - "I forgive you [of wrongdoing/sin]"  
> A semi-gift for petals-to-the-metal.

The moose chewed his nails down to the quick, eyes glancing at the clock and then darting to the doorway. Had it been fifteen minutes? Fifteen years?  
“You can come see your friend now.”  
Lumpus turned his head and stared for a moment at the nurse. Something about her too-white outfit set him on edge. If she had been covered in blood and slime, Lumpus might have been able to process it better.  
He stood up and followed her down the hallway, biting on his lower lip instead.  
Lumpus glanced at the room number as he stood in the hallway. 104. He could remember that. He would remember that.  
“Just go right on in.” the nurse told him.  
Lumpus nodded, trying to remember how to breathe. Once he built up his confidence enough, he stepped inside the room.  
It was too sterile.  
Lumpus stared at the figure in the bed. Slinkman perked up a little, but the movements were all wrong. He shouldn't have been covered in that many bandages. He shouldn't have to have that many stitches.  
And it was all Lumpus' fault.  
Slinkman set down the racing magazine and offered him a small smile. It was so trusting and forgiving that Lumpus thought he would throw up. He could feel the bile rising in his throat and the room was too sterile, too small, too terrible.  
He ran out of the hospital room and kept running until he sunk down onto the side walk, clutching his chest and breathing heavily.  
It was all his fault.

* * *

The accident didn't kill him. In almost no time at all, Slinkman was on his feet, independent as ever. Every once in a while, Lumpus would see the scars and feel sick all over again.  
He couldn't forget it, but he got better at hiding the emotions that came with it.  
So many people said it was an accident. So many people told Slinkman it was disappointing, that he could have done something. It weighed on Lumpus, a dead bird slung around his neck.  
“We're going to run camp,” Lumpus announced, standing at the scrubbed wooden table. Slinkman nodded and stared at the magazine in front of him. “We're going to run it together and it'll be fine and we'll be like we used to.”  
“Like old friends?”  
Lumpus nodded. “Like old friends.”  
Slinkman laughed and Lumpus felt hurt. The former said, “We're already old friends. Next you'll be sleeping next to me.”  
Lumpus felt the urge to grab salt and rub it into his eyes, make him bleed and squirm and scream. Instead, he glanced down, tracing the table.  
“Summer will make things better,” he promised, not knowing who he intended it to.  
“Summer, then.”  
But the summer brought up that sadistic urge again. Lumpus knew it was cruel and it could kill him. He simply . . . lost himself.  
When he realized how badly Slinkman hurt, how horribly his skin burnt from the salt, he went to work. Bandages didn't suit him and hopefully he would recover soon enough.  
They exchanged a glance when the work was finished. Something had in fact changed, but not the way he wanted it to. Lumpus knew it was all his fault.

* * *

Lumpus heard his pleas, his begs, but he refused to let him go. He was terrified this had been some ruse to get away from him. Slinkman wasn't stupid and Lumpus doubted he would put up with much more of what he was enduring.  
But Lumpus was scared.  
He was scared something would happen. Maybe Slinkman would find some other slug and run off and be happy without him. Maybe he would die. Maybe there would be antoher accident and it would be Lumpus' fault all over again.  
“I can't let you go,” he mumbled, standing in the doorway of the cabin and watching some boys shuffling about.  
“Why not?”  
Lumpus looked over and found Slinkman had stopped organizing papers. His eyes were narrowed and Lumpus had to look away.  
“I'm worried about you.”  
Slinkman scoffed, “You shouldn't be so scared all the time.”  
“You're right. You're the one who should be scared,” Lumpus noted. “I'm not letting you go to Slugfest, though.”  
Slinkman sighed, but Lumpus knew he would do something. He was right.  
The tantrum had been a demonstration of his anguish, his dead goals. Lumpus let him rage and act as he thought he needed to. Slinkman did look a lot better after his rage.  
Lumpus slapped him, just once. It was hard enough to send Slinkman's head reeling. He raised a hand to his cheek and glared.  
“You hit me.”  
“You're the one who should be scared.”  
“You can't hit me,” Slinkman cried. He ran past Lumpus upstairs. The door slammed and Lumpus sighed.  
Again, it was all his fault.

* * *

Slinkman had packed his suitcase while he locked himself in the bedroom. Lumpus frowned and crossed his arms.  
“I can't do this any more, Algonquin,” Slinkman explained, setting the suitcase down. “I've organized the rest of the summer for you. I know you can deal with things without me here.”  
“I can't,” Lumpus said, shaking his head. He reached forward and grabbed Slinkman's hands, seeing the way he flinched. “I need you here, in case something happens.”  
Slinkman shook his head, “I can't do it. You've hurt me.”  
“Stay! Things will get better, I swear.”  
“They're going to get worse and I can't do it. I have to live,” Slinkman told him.  
Lumpus took the suitcase and explained, “You're not going anywhere. You're staying here through the summer and we'll be fine.”  
Lumpus marched upstairs with Slinkman's things, unpacking everything neatly. When he heard the screen door slam shut, he glanced out the window. Slinkman was running along the dirt path out of camp and back to town.  
With a sigh, he realized it was all his fault for driving him away.

* * *

He came back, of course, but the divide was still there. Physically, Lumpus tried to bring them closer. They shared a bed and master suite but never shared the same train of thought.  
There were only to sides: Avoid and Possess.  
Slinkman often locked himself up in the makeshift office. He only allowed Lumpus to come near in the afternoons, when they drank iced tea together.  
“I want you,” Lumpus said offhandedly one afternoon.  
Slinkman made a soft grunt, acknowledging the other's statement. He turned, grabbed a file, and went back to flipping between papers and the computer. The only pause in his rhythm was to pick up his glass and sip the iced tea.

* * *

“I want you so much I'm afraid I'll kill you,” Lumpus added, watching him over the rim of his glass.  
Slinkman didn't look up from his work and dared, “Do it, then.”  
Lumpus nodded and said, “I might do that.”  
He did, in fact, hurt him again. The cook had given the scoutmaster a concerned look when he said he needed salt. Lumpus was not to be denied, though, and he simply had to wait.  
Later that night, he got up, pulling the salt out of the drawer and unfolding the cloth carefully. He began to grind the salt into the old wounds.  
For a long moment, Slinkman didn't react. Lumpus added more, clawing at him and grinding the salt in. His skin melted and burnt beneath his hands and the soft whimpers only spurred him on.  
Lumpus made him squirm and burn and hurt, the only thing he wanted. Slinkman gasped and writhed away, but didn't actively fight him. Vaguely, Lumpus wondered why that was.  
Toward three the fun stopped, Slinkman having sunk down into a state of unconscious. His breaths came shallow and quick. Calling his name earned no response.  
Faced with uncertainty and the possibility of losing him, Lumpus wrapped Slinkman in the quilt and hurried out to his car. He drove into town, into the sterile light of the emergency clinic.  
He parked and hurried in, hoping the slug in his arms would just hold on for longer and make sure he had to live with his albatross.

* * *

While he sat, Lumpus heard charges being discussed, things being filed to keep him away. He could make out Slinkman's voice denying the charges, refusing the documents. He should have been resting instead of battered with so many questions. Lumpus gnawed on his nails and waited for the approval to go see him.  
A nurse in dirty scrubs sighed, “Come on and see him.”  
Lumpus got up and tried to ignore the possibility that all the blood and slime on her were Slinkman's. It was entirely possible and made him feel sick.  
When he saw Slinkman, his heart fell and bile rose.  
The slug was wrapped up in bandages. Stitches peeked through and held him together more than skin did. A doctor stood by the bedside, cleaning shallow cuts and scrapes.  
“I didn't mean--”  
Slinkman raised a hand, bandaged from mid-forearm to finger tips. “Save it for now, Algonquin. I just want to rest.”  
Lumpus nodded and pulled a chair close to the bed. When he took one of his hands, Slinkman flinched before letting him.  
“I didn't . . . Hurting you isn't something I like,” Lumpus murmured.  
“Then stop doing it,” Slinkman answered.  
He had a point and part of him wanted to tear stitches and claw at him all over again. Instead, Lumpus nodded.  
“When you come home--”  
“There's no home for me there,” Slinkman said firmly.  
“When I bring you home,” Lumpus continued as if he had never been interupted, “things will get better. We'll be like old times.”  
The slug scoffed and lay back, eyes closed. Lumpus knew he was only pretending to be asleep. He ran his thumb over Slinkman's fingers.  
“We'll be fine, you'll see.”  
He let go of Slinkman's hand, watching him tense ever so slightly. Lumpus sighed and left the room.

* * *

After a few days, Slinkman came back to the camp. He was more distant than ever and jerked away whenever Lumpus tried to touch him or hold him.  
It made Lumpus so upset but it was his punishment. Every little scar and injury was all his fault.  
Even going to bed was different.  
Before, Lumpus could at least pretend the desire to hurt was eagerness. Now he had to restrain himself until the whole act felt cold and clinical.  
He broke down at one point, sobbing hopelessly and jerking his hips. Instead of burying his face into the crook of the slug's neck like he wanted to, Lumpus turned and hid his face entirely.  
Beneath him, Slinkman shifted awkwardly.  
Lumpus pulled away when the act was finished. He hadn't smoked for years, but he craved the comfort of nicotine.  
Slinkman turned over, away from Lumpus. That was fine.  
Maybe there was something vital missing, something that couldn't be saved.


End file.
